


Let Me Find You a Thousand Times

by tatch



Series: I'll Find You [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Inhumans, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Asexual Character, Dissociation, Flashbacks, M/M, Memory Loss, Multi, Non-Graphic Torture, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Protective Bucky Barnes, Self-Hatred, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Strong Feelings about Vents, Strong feelings about coffee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-15
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-30 14:39:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3940576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatch/pseuds/tatch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This stories contains: Lizard having been trained to be the Winter Soldier's replacement, Spidey and Lizard being actual bros, Hydra Bob, An unhealthy love of coffee, and a lot of other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back and Forth

**Author's Note:**

> First fic. No beta. Soulmates AU. Archive warnings, ratings and pairings coming along as the story unfolds.  
> Also, english isn't my native language so there may be errors. Don't hesitate to point them out so I can correct.
> 
> EDIT: I have been heavily dissastisfied with this (and lost into the DCverse) so I'm working on rewriting it (26.04 edit)

The Soldier never wanted anything, never asked, never took. He just did as he was ordered to, because he was a weapon and that was what weapons did. And yet right now, he wants. Whoever his target was-is, his words made him want to stay. It makes no sense, because he can't. He just can't.

No matter how badly he wants to.  
Because he knows, _knows_ that they'll punish him if he doesn't return. He knows that nothing is worth the pain his body remembers all too well. The loneliness and the fear and the-

  
He frowns.

No that's not right. He shakes his head, trying to remember why (WHY), pushing away the gnawing sensation in his brain, the itch that screams at him to run and disappear into the deepest shadows. Then he remembers. They'll punish _both_ of them if he doesn't return. He has to return.

  
He is- [ _Never forget this-]_

  
The man he saved from the river starts breathing again, spurting water weakly. And the Soldier tries to get a good look at his face but the target's face makes echoes in his minds, features blurred by the pain screaming behind his eyes.

  
He is _mine._  [ _No matter how many time they wipe you or me-]_

  
He turns and leaves.

  
Mine. [ _I'm yours. And you're mine. Whatever happens.]_

  
There's nothing left here for him. No matter how much he wants.

 

\----------

  
To say that his arrival doesn't go unnoticed is a sweet way to put it.

A welcoming party of 15 mens has their guns trained on him by the time he reaches the briefing room. Two snipers (one of them is shaking slightly-amateurs). Three scouts (who followed him since the moment he showed on the camera feed-not exactly stealthy, pals). The rest is standard operatives. No doctor. No handler. No-one to give him orders. It brings an absurd sense of relief to the Soldier, one that he is familiar with, event though it has no memory attached to it. By the time he stops moving and stands still in the middle of the room, his eyes have maped all exits (doors 1,windows 3,vents 2) and weak points of the formation that stands before him.

Had he come to eliminate them, they'd all be dead by now.

IF.

But he hasn't come for this.

So he waits, like he knows (without knowing exactly _how_ he knows) to do so for the debrief to come. They will take his weapons, ask about the targets, undress him, clean him, tend to his wounds (event though he _can't quite feel_ them, they always do) and then he will either be put away like the good weapon he is or they will keep him awake and-

And. A lot of things can happen if they don't put him in the tank. Or the chair.

He feels a shudder try to pass through him at the thought of the chair and pushes it away mercilessly. (Don't think about that, _focus)_ He waits. And waits. But nobody comes to him. Once they realized that he had returned as he was supposed to, as he was _programmed_ to, their wariness and fear of him seems to lessen greatly. He can still smell it in the air, on them, a bitter-rank smell that clings to them but it's no longer saturating the air. A weapon is pushed in his hands and he looks up to the handl- **no-** the agent (or whatever it is they're called) and receives instructions **(Follow. Get in the car. Stay hidden.)**.

He follows, gets in the car (some black SUV-not exactly inconspicuous, **pals** ) and hides between two crates in the trunk. Another agent climbs in front of him, hides between the crates too (He wonders if anyone would notice it if he stuck a blade in the man's tigh and made him talk. Made him tell exactly what he wants to know, so that he _wouldn't have_ to return. So that that itch of returning to the riverbank could be fulfilled.) The agent looks young and actually tries to spark some sort of discussion during the trip. (The agent doesn't know anything or he would know better than to try and talk the Asset-[ _how about Yasha? Do you like it?]_ - **Yasha** and it would blow the cover of obedience he- **Yasha** has shown so far) So the Soldier-Yasha doesn't do anything. He waits and listens, the weak attempts at talking to him dying shortly.

His head hurts, blood pounding in his ears, ghosts dancing at the edges of his vision, a taste of blood in his mouth.

Wait.A taste of blood?

He opens his eyes (When did he _close_ them?) and puts a finger in his mouth. It comes out covered in blood. The young agent pales visibly.

  
"Hey. Hey! He's bleeding from his mouth! What should I do?!"

  
He grabs the passenger seat, apparently scared, getting some attention from the agent sitting there. The older agent (in his forties, hair slicked back, cold expression-Yasha remembers seeing him before, even though he has no memories of _ever meeting_ him) turns in his seat and assesses the situation.

  
"Report injury, Asset."

  
The Soldier puts the finger back in his mouth, searching blindly for the source of blood. _There._ Ah. He takes his finger back out.

  
"Displaced and broken molar."  
"Fix it."

  
Yasha goes to push the molar back in its slot but then feels another one already growing in its place, effectively replacing the one he's now about to take out. He takes it out and lets it fall in his palm.

  
"Done."

  
The older agent nods, apparently satisfied, says something to the younger one, making him go even paler (Was it even _possible_ to go paler? Kid sure was pretty pale now) and sits back in his seat. The Soldier lets the useless teeth fall on the SUV floor apparently managing to startle the young agent in the process. (Seriously, kid. What are you even doing here.) They go quiet again, silence only broken by the sound of the road, the kid agent visibly shaken and trying bravely to not puke all over himself.   
Yasha waits. and waits. and waits some more.

  
'Not yet. But soon.' he tells himself, keeping his gaze averted in a show of obedience (submission, a voice tells him), knowing _somehow_ that's how he would usually act around agents. So he waits, one thought circling and rocking back and forth in his head.

  
Mine. He's _mine._


	2. To All my Fellow Crawlers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is an abnormal love of vents (may they be blessed)

Something is wrong.

He can feel it in the air, that instinct that saved him more than once, telling him that something is very _very_ wrong. They brought Yasha in more than a week ago and yet, Ghost hasn't been pushed into the training room to spar with the Soldier. He should have been, since he hadn't been tanked or sent on an op. He should have been training, sparring, learning everything that needed to be learned, everything the Soldier had to teach him. If not the Soldier, somebody should have been around to teach him or break him. It was always one or the other, sometimes both. He vaguely remembers that there had been a time when things had been different, but he couldn't quite remember when. (Just a vague recollection of a blinding smile and somebody calling a name- _his name?_ -that he couldn't remember anymore.)

 

There were things he knew. Things that led him to this sense of wrongness floating in the air:

\- The Soldier wasn't training him.

\- The Soldier hadn't been tanked or wiped (because he could hear-sense him tap the seconds away on their shared wall)

\- The Soldier wasn't injured (because he was in his own cell tapping)

\- The Soldier was deviating from programming but either it hadn't been noticed or they were ignoring it (or he would have been wiped and wouldn't be tapping. The Soldier never tapped when he was fresh out of the chair)

\- Nobody had come to humiliate or experiment on him in days (which was seriously weird)

\- All his meals had been perfectly served on time (which never happened before. They seemed to like to see him starve and he was only fed regularly before and after ops)

 All of this led him to think that something was extremely wrong. He didn't know what or why exactly he thought that, but he did.

 

He paces, or does what passes for pacing for him, meaning he's crouched in one the corner of the room, as far from the door as possible and with a line of sight to the window (the glass is too hard to break-through, he knows it _somehow_ ) leading to the monitor room. The agent there looks bored and sort-of glances at him every once in a while. His tail is twitching and twisting and slashing around, the only thing betraying the mask of calm and blankness he has long since practiced. He also knows that the Soldier is the only one who can see his tail for what it actually is: his tell. The last thing that lets people read him.

Everything else has been taken away.

Between his Change, the disappearance of anything that could have once been a human face, the torture, the humiliations, the way they had broken him to remake him as they wanted him to be, the training the Soldier had put him through so he could be perfectly inconspicuous, the wipes and subsequent loss of most of his memories, he wasn't left with many things to express or have an opinion about (Not that he would actually express an opinion about _something-anything,_ he still remembered his punishment the last time he-no no no not thinking about _that)_

 

The Soldier is still tapping away time, regular as a metronome (whatever _that_ is) and that's how they're keeping track of time. If one stops, the other picks up. But he's not trying to communicate either, which might mean the security in the Soldier cell has been reinforced. Ghost's tail stops for a moment as he considers the idea.  _That_ would explain part of what's happening. Part of what's wrong for the moment. If they're wary of the Soldier-well it **does** explain why they're not training (and why nobody's bothering with Gost, if they're all focused on Yasha), but why didn't they tank or wipe the Soldier then?

The tail starts its ballet once again. It makes _no sense_.

 

Sometimes, when Ghost thinks too much, his head starts hurting. The blood rushes in the ears he no longer has and his field of vision narrows to a tunnel, the edges dark and filled with...things. Lines and numbers and shapes that make no sense.  Sometimes he remembers... things. Like his name or who the blinding smile belonged to. And sometimes, his head just hurts and hurts and _hurts_ til all he wants is to claw at his own brain, pluck his own eyes out, tear his own skin and scream and scream and _scream,_ until they come and wipe him and he feels empty and cold once again, no thought, no feeling, no line-shape-number crawling around his brain, nothing but the mission. He knows he actually did it once before. Knows from the heavy scars under his eyes. Scars that have the exact shape of his claws. (But he can't remember, it's just out of his reach, right _there_ ).

 

Finally, the door opens and a handler is there, waiting. Ghost always knows when he's facing a handler.

Unlike agents, the handlers don't reek-taste of fear, they're patient-sweet-impatient-violent manners wrapped in calculating eyes and quiet-fake smiles that never reach their eyes.

Ghost stands slowly up (as if his slouched partially-crouched posture deserves that appellation) telegraphing his moves. If he spooks the handler or displeases him, he will be punished. He waits for an order.

The handler waits then raises an eyebrow apparently amused-pleased with the obedience.

"Come."

 

* * *

 

 

The op should had been simple.

In, retrieval of basic intel, make sure nobody's seen you, get rid of witnesses if necessary and then out.

First problem, apparently somebody's trapped the vents. And not just a few of the vents, noo. All the fucking vents are trapped. All of them. (Who does that?) Annoyance and something-is that _respect_ -for whoever took the time to trap all the damn vents passes through him as he ignores the thermal mines (that can no longer register him, as his blood now runs cold in his veins) and enters. So he managed to get in. Through the trapped vents. Goes down the 12 floors and reaches the-whoever _that_ is-Captain's floor.

Then he feels and taste-smell it on his tongue. There's somebody else in the vents.

He wants to groan in annoyance (vents are sacred, nobody should be using them but Ghost, thank you _very much_ ) but instead simply wills his scales to camouflage him and goes extra quiet. That is until, at a crossroad in the vents (the map he studied for this op said that he's supposed to turn left next to reach his objective) he turns and somehow manages _not_ to hit his face to that of his fellow vent crawler. He had noticed the scent-taste strengthening steadily but there had been next to no sound-vibration coming from the metal under his palms, so Ghost had chosen to ignore it. He takes a second to study the vent-crawler (blond, blue eyes, wearing..purple? who wears _purple?,_ squinting)

 Wait a minute.

 _Squinting?_ Why is the crawler squinting?

 And as the vent collapses under their struggling heap, Ghost learns that apparently the crawler has either managed to _see_ him (a feat that not even the Soldier managed) or he had good enough instincts to feel Ghost's presence. Second, he could have easily taken care of the crawler, had he been alone, and that would have been the end of it, but noo, the room they landed in contained 4 others people.

4\. Fucking. People.

In the middle of the fucking _night._ (Does anybody actually sleeps in this stupid tower. Which is ridiculously tall and flashy by the way.)

Of the newcomers, -okay, Ghost actually _is_ the newcomer but well- one (blond, blue eyes, his mission) seems injured, or at least still recovering from some injury, another (dark hair, brown eyes, beard) has a glass in hand and a vexed look, as he looks toward the now-busted vent, as if it had wronged _him_ somehow. The third one (short hair, dark skin and black eyes) is gaping, looking alternatively between the hole in the ceiling and the crawler on the ground, who's now crouching and throws a _'Camouflage, 'Tasha!'_ and that's when the fourth one moves. Ghost has long since moved to a table near the only open window in the room and was considering whether he should adapt his parameters and kill all the occupants of the room or leave before somebody actually _saw_ him, when the redhead-fourth (green eyes, danger danger _danger_ ) moves. For a few seconds, his attention is almost entirely on her and he realizes that killing the people in the room is no longer an option. Because she moves like the Soldier.

The moves are different, but the way she holds herself?

The way her body shows nothing but deadly intent?

How she scans the room, looking for him, not quite leaving any opening?

The moves are not exactly the same but they're different in the same way Ghost fighting stance is different from that of the Soldier. Same base. Different styles.

 

Ghost is so fucked. This _mission_. Ugh. He should leave. Like right _now._ Should have left yesterday. (Why is he even still here?) Should never have even set a clawed toe in this annoying place. (Except _that_ wasn't an option, no more than failing to accomplish what he came to do is.)

Except.Except this could be his only chance. _Their_ chance.  _Maybe._

Because, if _they_ want these people dead or at least accounted for, that makes them enemies. And you know what they say about your enemy's enemies. (And those people seem to at least have resources they could use.) He wants it, can feel it just out of his reach. That freedom he hasn't tasted in years..? (He isn't sure, could have been longer, sure _felt_ much longer).

Except.

Except he suddenly doesn't know whether he should trust them or _not._

Those people seem to protect their own, yes, but Ghost and the Soldier would be nothing but _strangers_ here. And the calculating-cold look in Redhead's eyes, plus the military posture half of them have fallen into? (Because yeah, he'd recognize _soldiers_ anywhere, have been trained by one after all.) It brings a chill up his spine. And not a good one.

 

The other people have moved and seem to be protecting The Mission. (It would have made Ghost laugh if he remembered how. Try and protect a mark from its _invisible_ assassin?  _Sure._ Piece of cake. But he hasn't been send to kill, just _locate_ The Mission and report back without being seen.) Crawler now has a... _bow? (Seriously?)_  In his hands, Gaping Guy nurses a gun and The Mission is up and seems ready to fight. Beard hasn't apparently moved, though he seems to be talking to the ceiling ( _What even-_  Are those people completely crazy or what?) And then Mission Dude speaks, and Ghost's world tips on its axis and his third problem of the evening shows its very blond head:

"Show yourself. We don't want to hurt you. ... Please?"

 

Ghost's shock is violent enough that his camouflage disappears entirely and he sort of notices the disagreeing face Redhead makes right before that happens, but then his attention is now focused on Mission Dude. Mission Dude who is his soulmate. His _soulmate._

Well, fuck. He is most definitely fucked that's for sure.

And he's gaping and struggling to speak, but then, at the exact moment the words start forming in his throat, he is reminded of why talking is a very idea when you're wearing a collar that one: has blades going through your vocal cords, therefore preventing any kind of speech and hurting like a bitch and a half (even though he can no longer _feel_ it), and second: will send electrical shock through your body if you try to speak anyway and will record any attempt so that you will get punished when you get back to base.

Great.

 

Ghost's body flinches visibly and he narrows his eyes in pain. His flinch raises weapons and eyes narrow right back at him, mistaking his flinch for a tell of incoming attack. He's suddenly annoyed (well _more_ than before) because his fucking _soulmate_ is right before him and he. can't. Say. A. _Fucking._ **WORD.** (Ok, actually his _other_ soulmate but still-Even though he doesn't quite remember who his other mate is-) He could show his mark to Mission Dude but he has the _weird_ impression that it's a rude thing to do (not sure _how_ he knows that) so instead he opts for option 3 (since one and two are out of the question) and starts signing, hoping that one of these idiots knows ASL. He keeps his eyes trained on Redhead while signing, since she's the most dangerous out of the lot. Aand Crawler Dude almost drops his bow. (That guy is just unreal.)

 

"Clint." says Redhead, eyes as focused on Ghost as Ghost's are on her.

"Yeah, yeah. Uh, can you start over?" asks Crawler-Clint-Dude, apparently weirded out by the fact that the giant lizard-man that crawled through the vent and can make himself almost invisible, _knows ASL_ (dude, your sense of priorities is **broken**.) Ghost obliges and starts over.

"So uh, I'm goin to translate directly what he signs, 'kay?" and without actually waiting for any answer from the other he starts saying what Ghost signs.

"I didn't know we were-what the fuck, are you _kiddin_ me-soulmates but that doesn't change anything. If they send me to kill you, I will. I have no choice."

The Blond Mission Dude gapes for a second, eyes widening, before going all professional. He had looked as if he wasn't sure that Ghost was talking to _him_ at first, but almost instantly realized that he had been the only one to _actually talk_ to Ghost.

"So. If you're not here to kill us, why-" Mission Dude now seems perplexed.

"Don't ask." Blond eyebrows furrow.

"Who _sent_ you?"

And Ghost feels a full-body shiver run through his body, which seems to be more than enough for the blond guy, whose previously confused expression is now shadowed by anger.

" **HYDRA**."

Ghost doesn't answer. He's already dreading the punishment he's going to receive for this failure. He knows they'll punish him and then wipe him more violently than usual and he will truly be a ghost for weeks to come. Dread runs through his core as fear-panic flows, turning his veins into rivers of ice.

 "Stay here, you'll be safe. We'll protect you from _them_."

And Ghost wants that. Wants to be safe and happy and protected.  He wants it so _bad,_ he's ready to die for a chance to just taste it for a second. Would go through a thousand hell for a second of freedom even if it was to be taken away right after. A memory of that would keep him going for years, would let him float away from the pain and suffering, the cold in his head replaced by warmth and strong arms. (Because, yeah, The Mission arms look... tasty? comfy? whatever the word is, it makes him mouth waters with want.) But he _can't_ abandon the Soldier. He could _never_ abandon the Soldier. (He isn't sure _why_ but he knows he can't. The not-quite-there feeling of something he should know and remember, something that was _his_ and was taken away, a now familiar feeling.)

He has been here too long, he must return to the rendez-vous point and fast or his punishment will be even worse. (And he doesn't want to think about _how_ he knows that whatever is the worse he can remember and endure, they will always find a way to make him scream and sob and beg, a way to make it _worse.)_ So he signs one last thing, desperation showing in the way his tail trembles. Redhead must be better at reading people than he _thought_ because as he leaps, crashing through the window, she rushes forward, trying to grab him. Ghost camouflages again and disappears from the sight of the people in that room. (He then works on climbing _down_ the building, which is an easily achieved task when you've got claws at the tip of your fingers)

 

* * *

 

"Well, that happened" Tony says, tone disbelieving. "It did just happened, right? It wasn't just some sort of random hallucination, right? JARVIS?"

"There appear to be no foreign compound in the air or in your drinks, sir." the AI answers dutifully.

Steve's expression is pinched and he turns to Clint, whose expression has turned dark since the last sentence the lizard-guy signed at them.

"That last thing he signed... what was it?" There's barely contained anger in his voice, a promise of violence to come in his eyes.

Clint's voice is nothing more than a murmur.

"Save us. The last thing he said was "save _us._ "


	3. The Screams in Your Throat...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a storm is brewing.

Steven "Steve" Rogers, more commonly known as Captain America, was pacing. Pacing like a tiger locked in a too-small-a-cage for too long, shoulders tensed, posture stiff, a deep anger coiled tight around him, draping him in a swirling mass of righteous fury.  Sam looked away, mouth dry. He wouldn't like to be the one to stand in the path of that fury (not that standing in the path of that _other_ Fury was any better) and even less to be the target on which all that anger was gonna unfold. It was like watching a living breathing walking storm with full-on lightnings, rumbling and tornados, and knowing that you were it's target. Best he could do was to try and minimize the trail of destruction Steve was going to leave in his wake. Sam knew better than to try and reason with Steve right now. Ooh no, he was not gonna try and reason a guy who had _another_ soulmate in HYDRA hands right now, suffering God knows what.

Yeah, Sam was not trying to get himself killed by Captain America, not when all he wanted was to kick those HYDRA asses six ways to Sunday himself, not when his stomach had trouble keeping any food in as his mind tried not to think of whatever could be happening to Lizard Guy right now (they'd come to an agreement on the name since the mysterious assassin-who had not actually tried to kill them, weird right?-had not exactly left a business card behind.) because he was also sure that whatever horrible images his mind was providing him with, the reality would probably be far worse.

 Steve was angry. So angry he could feel his blood pounding in his ears, his mind coming back again and again to the assassin-his soulmate during the last seconds of their encounter. So angry that the word angry doesn't really cover it anymore. His mate had seemed so genuinely distressed and scared...

Steve isn't sure he wants to know what exactly brought such violent reaction (something like pain and terror and despair had trailed in the air for a second before his mate disappearance, just long enough for Steve's enhanced senses to pick it up.) and he knows that if-when he finds out, he's probably going to lose it. He wants to punch things right now. To punch and punch and forget until his body breaks down, until pain makes him black out, forcing him into a rest that's been denied to him so far.

Because between Bucky being somewhere (and their search so far, which has been greatly delayed by Steve's recovery, has proved useless, even with Tony's help. There's no trace of Bucky beyond the river bank where they found Steve, a week and a half ago.) and his newly found soulmate being a whatever-he-is-exactly-slash-prisoner of HYDRA, Steve is starting to reach the edges of the nice-polite persona of Captain America and the anger-sharp edges of someone used to fight dirty battles is resurfacing. HYDRA has made things so personal they're going to face Steve Rogers, not Captain America. And Steve is not quite so nice when people hurt what's his. 

Natasha had returned earlier, brows furrowed, muttering that it was impossible for something-someone like their mysterious assassin to just not-exist in any record of any kind. There was just nothing. Steve had let her take pictures of the marks on his back, one of which had proven to be Bucky's old mark-Steve had been so desperate when the mark had vanished from his left forearm-but considering what he knew now, that Buck had lost his left arm (where Steve's handwriting had been curled neatly on Buck's own forearm), it made sense for the mark to reappear somewhere else on Steve's body too-and left with the assassin's handwriting, her eyes fierce, determined in finding something-anything about Steve's soulmate. She had not asked about the mark on Steve's right forearm and Steve had been grateful.

 

Tony suddenly emerges from the depth of his workshop, a StarkPad in hand, waving them to come closer to him.

"So gentlemen. I found something. No, not about your oh-so-mysterious vent-busting stalker mate, sorry. But uh, I may have found Barnes."

Steve blinks owlishly.

"Well, more like a week-and-a-half-old trail of Cap's other creepy boyfriend." Stark gestures from the Pad to the air, a hologram materializing in front of them. On the floating screen, there is the moving silhouette of a man with a baseball cap pulled low on his face. Steve is about to argue that the man doesn't look like his best friend (also soulmate) at all when suddenly the light shine differently for just a second and the left hand reflection is that of metal, not flesh. Breath taken away, Steve is silent for most of the recording until-

"Wait. Rewind and show that again." The recording shows Barnes who-for once-had stopped almost right in front of the camera-instead of sticking to the edges or background of the screen-and is playing with the buttons of his coat in weird gestures. Clint suddenly jumps from the vent, startling Tony(again).

"Clint is that-" Steve has turned to the archer, a question on his face.

"Play that again." Muttering through gritted teeth, Tony does as told. Clint focus is hawk-like (aha.) unblinking, unmoving, fully focused on the hovering screen.

"Yeah, that's ASL. Heavily disguised ASL but still ASL. Your friend just signed "Follow me", Cap." Steve is about to answer- when suddenly screen-Bucky looks up and right into the camera and mouths "Steve" before disappearing. Steve sort of hears Tony say that that's the last of the trail Barnes had left them.

Steve's heart is beating as if it wants to fly out of his chest.

Bucky knows Steve's name. Bucky knows Steve. Bucky remembers him. And that smirk right before disappearing entirely? That's so much like the Bucky Steve remembers that he wants to cry.

 

* * *

 

The screams roll and keep echoing through the corridors and hallways. And when they finally stop reaching his ears (and his hearing is much better than that of most), Yasha knows it's not because they've stopped, but simply because Ghost's voice is so broken from screaming that he can't scream anymore. Or, if the other Asset is lucky, he may have passed out by now, earning himself a moment of calm, even though they will start again once they've roused him.

 The Soldier wants to punch something.

A lot of something. Wants to feel blood and bone and flesh being torn apart by his hands. Wants that blood, those bones and that flesh to be theirs. Wants to offer it to Ghost, to show his pupil that nobody's ever going to hurt him ever again, because Yasha will be there to prevent it from _ever_ happening again. Because Yasha will slaughter anyone who even considers hurting Ghost.

But he can't.

He's locked up in his cell and knows he's being watched (his every movement, reaction, action, sound, recorded to be studied and taken apart, second by second by an army of doctors who will then decide whether or not he is to be wiped.) and can't move or show any kind of reaction to the screams that have once again started echoing on the walls (Kid had passed out then.) so he bottles it all up and keeps it for later. (Whenever later is going to be.) Yasha remembers more and more with every passing moment, ghosts of long since past days dancing at the corner of his eyes. They haven't wiped him yet and he remembers things.

Like Ghost's real name,[" _Since you just named me, seems 'bout right that you tell me your name, doll."_  " _Sure_ (an almost chuckle), _my name is_ -] the taste of cotton candy[ _Sweet, a sticky wooden stick, rain, the way the light used to glimmer in Steve's hai-_ ]

Wait.

They haven't wiped him. Why? He knows he's just erratic enough and that he's been out for so long that they should not even consider not wiping him.

Unless...

Unless. Unless they _can't_ wipe him. Unless the chair is not here or maybe not available at all.

The realization of what that means almost knocks the breath out of his lungs and he lets out a quiet almost shuddering breath. He can plan. He can start planning without being afraid of anyone wiping away any plan or discovery he could have made. The predatory grin he keeps inside his head would have made the scientists run for their lives, the agents (wards, because this place is nothing more than a glorified prison) burning the place to the ground, with him inside, had they been able to see it. Yasha takes the hatred (the years-decades of pain and suffering and blood and screams and humiliation and cold and death) rooted deep inside him and starts sharpening into a much much deadlier form.

The Soldier-once known as James Buchanan Barnes [ _Call me Bucky. James Barnes' my father_ ] plans.


	4. Would Feel so Much Better Coming from Mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -... . -.-. .- ..- ... . / - .... .- - / - .- .--. .--. .. -. --. / .. ... -. .----. - / .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ... / .--- ..- ... - / - .- .--. .--. .. -. --. .-.-.-
> 
> In which revelations are made and coffee is sacrificed.

Pain.

Blood.

Cell.

Ground.

Corner.

He falls on himself and blacks-out.

 

* * *

 

 

Yasha hears the answering tap-tap-tap to his own tapping hours after the muffled _thud_ of Ghost's return had vibrated against their shared wall. (Fuck, hope he's fine. Well what counts as fine 'round here.)

He gives Ghost [- _name is Adrian, Yasha. Don't go and forget it._ ] **Adrian** a minute to settle and when the tap-tap-tap returns (Three taps. Meaning Ghost-Adrian is conscious enough to remember their code but not a five tap that would have meant his partner-pupil remembered more-which is a _weird_ change, since Yasha's usually the one with huge gaping holes in his mind.), he subtly alters his own tapping, morse-coding through the wall.

 **[OKAY]** You okay?

 **[NOT]** No.

 **[WHAT]** What happened?

Ghost-Adrian takes some time to answer and the Soldier is about to repeat his question when the tapping finally answers him.

 

 **[TAIL]** They went for his tail. (Well, shit.)

Gho-Adrian's tail is far more sensitive than people could imagine, probably one of the few places in his body where he can still feel pain. Of _course,_ they were gonna go for it.

 **[HOW]** What did they do exactly?

**[CUT]**

They cut it. Yasha feels the nail of his flesh hand, the hand that isn't tapping away secret messages, dig into his palm, his knuckles turning white. They probably cut it open and raw and prodded and twisted and sliced and then cut it entirely, bit by bit, knowing that it would regrow, and that the pain _that_ regrowth would bring would add to the pain-punishment.

Oh yeah, Yasha wants to punch _things,_ people preferably.

 **[HOW LONG TAIL]** How long 'til it's grown back?

There's a moment of silence from Adrian's side.

 **[DAY]** A day.

Meaning at least a day. The itch (Move move move, run, kill, hide, out, _free_ ) the Soldier can feel _thrumming_ under his skin since he started planning calms a bit. Wait, breathe, quiet. Right. He has to tell Adrian.

**[CHAIR]**

The long silence that follows his message was expected and Yasha can almost hear the _cautiousness_ in the next answer.

 **[WHAT]** What about it?

 **[NOT]** No chair.

 **[WHAT]** What do you mean? (was it him or had the tapping been a bit _frantic?_ )

 **[HERE NOT]** The chair is not here.

There's no answer coming from the other side, but again, Yasha had been expecting that reaction. Adrian is probably doing his best to show _nothing_ of the baffling news the Soldier just transmitted him. So part for distraction and part because he still has things to _'say'_ , he taps the next part.

 **[PLAN]** I have a plan.

That code is usual and they both know exactly what it means though Adrian is usually the one who would tap it, not Yasha.

 **[TODAY]** Today?

 **[NO]** No.

 **[NO]** Not today?

 **[NO]** Not today.

The triple repetition is their way of making very sure they're on the same page about important things. The **[SLEEP]** followed by a triple tap(tap-tap-tap) is also expected (Adrian will probably try and sleep away the regrowth of his tail, especially the beginning of it-which is apparently more painful) even if the Soldier is a bit _disappointed_ because he really wants to _'talk'_ with Adrian more(the return of the triple tap simply means that Yasha wouldn't get answers anymore-an in-out of their _'discussions'_ ). To be accurate, there's a lot of things he wants to do with Adrian, most of which involves a freedom (and _privacy)_ they haven't had in-oh-so long.(Never?)

But who could blame him?

It's only fair. For Adrian is his mate. His _soulmate._ Whatever happens.

Adrian is _his._

 

* * *

 

Natasha returns before their departure. She stands on the threshold, hip cocked, a usb stick in hand.

"I found him." and she hands over the stick to Tony, who plugs it into the StarkPad he had put on the coffee table while they were making plans in case something went wrong during their now-planned search for Barnes trail. Files appear in the air and the genius-engineer shifts swiftly through them, pulling a birth certificate and what seems to be one of those to-keep-eye-on-and-maybe-offer-a-job-to SHIELD file.

The young man (short brown hair, big glasses, light brown eyes, a bag that had seen better days and seems ready to burst hanging from his shoulders, casual clothes under what seems to be a lab coat) in the surveillance picture is standing next to a dark skinned teenager, a foam cup in one hand, an old-looking laptop secured under his other arm and while his posture is that of someone used to be part of the background, used to be invisible(unconsciously making himself smaller-his back hunched slightly), his head is thrown back a bit with something that looks like delight lighting up his face. He looks young, sweet and carefree.

He looks... happy. Steve feels something tighten in his chest. But-

"Nat, it can't be him." The young man looks nothing like the giant lizard assassin who infiltrated the building, bypassing both Tony and Natasha's security measures.

"Steve." Natasha's voice is filled with something- but her expression sweetens as she turns around and takes in Cap's distressed expression. She holds his gaze and says quietly:

"Stark, pull the handwriting analysis." Tony looks like he wants to say something but closes his mouth and pulls the analysis out of the mess of data hovering around them.

It's a perfect match.

A 100% match between the picture of the handwriting on Steve's back (Which reads _'You're- Sorry. Couldn't talk. Not that it would have changed anything._ ') and scribbled notes which are half-covered in chemical formulas, diagrams and coding. (The notes are complicated. Enough that they wouldn't look out of place in a pile of Stark's note-if Tony kept written notes around-and he doesn't seem to be the kind.)

Steve's eyes go back to the grinning young man on the picture and feels his heart do a stutter-lurch dance as he wonders what could have possibly happened. But wondering won't do anything. It won't save anyone. So he steels himself and starts reading.

 

Adrian Connors, born the 8th of December 1988, of Curt and Judy Connors (both deceased in a car accident in October 2003-leaving behind two sons, Adrian and Billy(born in July 2001)) had apparently been a _very_ intelligent child. Graduating from high school at the glorious age of _16_ , by the time he had reached 20, Connors had been nursing doctorates in both Science and Biology and had been working his way to turning his Engineering Master into yet another Doctorate.(Tony is sporting an _almost_ impressed face and Clint is shaking his head, muttering that ' _this feels like reading Stark's damn biography_ ') The Connors brothers had apparently been adopted in 2006 by May and Ben Parker (the later died 2 years ago in a robbery) after 3 disastrous years of jumping from one foster family to another. There was a note (November 2005) which stipulated that the brothers were to _not_ be separated and that prevented any attempt at adopting either one _separately_. (Apparently, Adrian had ran away or _'kidnapped'_ his own baby brother every time such an attempt had been made-there was a record of Adrian locking himself with his brother in one of the foster families food-filed underground bunker, booby-trapping the door and claiming that he wasn't coming out if anyone tried to separate him from his brother ever again-event that had apparently led to the 2005 note of non-separation policy.) The report stops here. The next chronological report is that of a cold case investigation.

Five years ago, the university lab in which Connors and his co-workers slash fellow researchers were working late had been hit by terrorists. (The report held a speculating tone on whether it had _truly_ been terrorists or people who had wanted to make it _look like_ terrorists-no known group had ever taken credit for the attack.) Every note, prototype, formula and person present in that lab that evening had disappeared entirely. No trail had been found. No demands had been made. And then, a year later, the calcined bodies of 5 people had showed in an abandoned warehouse in Pennsylvania. Dental records had accounted for all the disappeared scientists and assistants. All but one Adrian Connors, age 20 at the time of his disappearance.

 

Tony is making a Face, which never means anything good. Steve can see Nat narrowing her eyes at the engineer and Steve himself starts opening his mouth to ask what's going on, when Tony pulls out the university lab-turned-crime-scene photos and actual _genuine_ shock appears on the genius' face.

"I've been there... I was there! I remember seeing that place before.  _JARVIS._ Pull the February records from that year of my appointments, charity galas, dentist appointments, dates _-whatever-_ and cross them with that university's location."

"There is no record of you visiting that university, sir. But I found that you did attend a private gala just across the street during that time period. There is also a file that was created right after your return on that same day and that hasn't been opened or modified since." Tony's Face is deepening by the second.

"Open it."

The file that shows up is that of a hypothetical long-term contract for someone named Connors with a note that says " _Wait until he finishes his Doctorate!"_ Tony Stark, genius philanthropist part-time-hero, who can work 72 hours straight relying on caffeine and pure brain power, suddenly looks very tired. He rubs his forehead and ends up hunched over, his hands linked behind his neck and starts:

"It was some stupid party, but for once I really didn't want to be there. The socialites were worse than usual for some reason, and about half-way through the thing, I skipped out. I was half-drunk but I remembered that there was a uni-lab just on the other side of the street and I was completely intent on breaking in. But lights were on and there was that kid refilling his mug in the background but then I saw that prototype on one of the tables. It looked like some very advanced camouflage or shielding technology, the kind of which I had never seen before. It looked like something coming out of my own workshop. Good enough that I could have been the one to build it-there were a few minor flaws but nothing obvious. And I was there about to put my hands on that beauty (no, really it was beautiful, you should have _seen_ it) when suddenly there's a half-filled paper cup flying at my arm and covering me in lukewarm coffee. I turn around and there's the kid-Connors standing there, watching me and making an annoyed face. And I yell "What did you do _that_ for?!" and he scowls at me and tells me "Don't touch that." And of course, I go all "Do you even know who I am?" and he makes that completely _unimpressed_ face and raises an eyebrow at me. "Of course, I know who you are, Mr Stark. But even if you were Hephaistos falling down from the sky right before me, I wouldn't let you touch my stuff." And I laughed at that because that kid, who, _had he been anyone else_ , would have been shitting himself and crawling at my feet trying to please me (it did happen before, don't make those _disgusted_ faces), was treating me like I was no-one special and a trespasser in his space-and it _felt_ \- good. So I spent the rest of the night bonding over advanced engineering and cold coffee and ended up offering him a job at SI and _you know what?_ He actually _refused,_ saying that he wanted to finish his Engineering Doctorate first, but that he might take me up on the offer later on, all of it with an amused look and a little smile."

They all stand there, a bit _fazed_ by the story, when JARVIS finally speaks up again.

"Sir, I may have found something else concerning Mr Connors. If I may?"

"Sure, buddy, go on. How worse can it get?" The adoption record that shows up has them all gaping and making various expressions and sounds of bewilderment. Well, all except Sam who's looking at them and the record, having no idea of what's going on.

Turns out-

"It must be an error, right guys?"

-around the same year the Parkers adopted the Connors-

"JARVIS, check that _again."_  

-they adopted _another_  child-

"This is...unexpected."

-whose name is now _Peter Benjamin Parker._

 "There is no error or sign of the file being tampered with, Captain Rogers."

_Spider-man._

"What the actual fuck?!" Yeah, that about sums it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brace yourselves, flashbacks are coming! Also rating may change in the next chapter, depending on how things turn out.
> 
> This chapter and the next one were supposed to be one but then I got side-tracked.
> 
> For those interested, Tony's Face looks like [this](http://media.theiapolis.com/aR/cDCDCDC/d8/e4/hM8/iGGI/r1/s1/t4/wG4/z23/robert-downey-jr-as-tony-stark-in-the-avengers.jpg)


	5. Somedays I Wish.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some asses are uncovered while some others stay covered.

Sam has to say that when he joined the Avengers, this kind of situation was not what he thought he'd have to deal with.

"So lemme get this straight. That Parker kid is actually Spider-man. Spider-man is a 19yo kid and you've left him to deal with a shitload of stuff on his own? And his adoptive older brother happens to _-apparently-_ be your soulmate. Your soulmate who is-was a think alike of Stark's. (And kinda looks like a cute younger version of Banner.) And HYDRA kidnapped the one scientist with enough ties with heroes that his death would rouse half of the superhero community and turned him into some sort of Winter Soldier reptilian twin-  _What!_ Don't look at me like that! We're all thinking it." There's a moment of silence.

"Did I miss anything?"

And then Cap lets a heavy sigh out.

"No Sam, I think you just summed the whole situation up."

They're all contemplative for a minute.

"So what were you guys about to do when I came back?" Natasha asks. Both Tony and Steve get up at the same time and exchange a look, Rogers nodding once.

"I found the Winter Soldier's trail and..." And as Stark explains to Nat the trail Barnes left them and their plan for catching up with Cap's best friend, the rest of them scurry out to get their respective gears.

 Since Connors disappeared without a trace,(and _yes,_ Steve, Tony did dissect the feeds around the Tower and in a two block radius and still found nothing-except for one Barnesicle-who- _let's face it_ -wanted to be seen.) Steve is hoping (and the other Avengers know it) that finding the Winter Soldier will get them Connors too. After all, the lizard assassin did say _'us'_ so there was a chance-or maybe it was wishful thinking-that the two of them were kept together somewhere.

They just had to find that somewhere.

 

* * *

 

 

He dreams.

 _The air is hot and heavy, a promise of rain to come._  (but there are no clouds in sight how-)  _The sun is so bright today that he has to squint too see where he goes. He looks up to the sky, relishing in the heat, closing his eyes for a moment, letting out a sigh of contentment_ (from heat? That's so-) _and missing the person's arrival._

 _"Hey bro, I brought you coffee. You still like coffee right?" He opens his eyes and looks at the familiar face_ (but he can't remem-) _, a grin spreading on both their faces._

_"Like? I don't like coffee. I love it. Hell, if I could marry it, I would."They both chuckle at the joke and start walking toward the lab._

_"So Pete._ (his name is Peter-I know him-who-) _Aren't you supposed to be at school, learning-you know-stuff? Not that I don't like seeing you here-and you did bring me coff-" He stops there because the grin on the oth-Pete's face is so big and bright that it must hurt. His heart does something in his chest_ (is he sick?-no it's-) _and stops walking as Peter jumps in front of him, hugs him and squeezes him hard._

 _"I met my soulmate, Dri!_ (That's a weird nam-) _She's so pretty you should see he-" But he interrupts Pete._

_"You're squeezing me too hard, little spider." Peter lets go instantly, looking worried, hovering over him. He winces a bit but smiles quietly, reassuring._

_"I think I heard my ribs crack a bit..." The teenager expression turns into one of shame and fear, so he adds, probably too fast._

_"I'm joking! I promise." Peter looks like he wants to argue but he cuts him again._ (isn't that considered rud-)

 _"I'm fine. Jeez. I swear sometimes it feels like you're my mom, not my brother." His brother still look quite unsure. He takes a sip of coffee to hide the pain-he did hear his ribs crack-knowing that the pleasure the taste of coffee will bring him will hide any lingering pain on his face_ (how is that even poss-) _and asks:_

_"So how did it happen?" Peter smiles tentatively._

_"So we were in Chem, bored (yeah, we can't all love chemistry, Dri) and there, Harry starts mixing stuff from the cupboard, looking all sly about it. And then maybe two minutes later, there's this huge black cloud coming from his desk. The fire alarm starts blaring, everybody runs out, and at some point I bump into some chick and say "Sorry-is that a custom one?" because she wearing a Captain America tee-shirt, but it doesn't look like the kind they usually sell, you see. And her eyes widen a bit and she stops, nails me with a glare and says "Please tell me you're not a fan." So. Soulmates!" Peter is bouncing from feet to feet a dreamy expression on his face as he recalls the morning events. He hides a grin behind his coffee and ask, trying not to laugh._

_"I take it you guys compared marks?" The way Pete spins around, his dark complexion becoming even darker as blood rushes to his face and he gasps and sputters a half-strangled "What?! No!" is hilarious. Of course, they didn't. Both of Pete's soulmarks are in-hum-indecent places and his brother is way too shy to even consider showing his marks to anyone he isn't intimate with._

_"So which one is it?" Because a few months ago, they showed (for him) or described (for Peter) their respective marks to the other. They both have two marks and were both born with both of them. Pete's are respectively 'Please tell me you're not a fan.' and 'Why are you bumping in? It's not like I killed anyone. I didn't... right? Do you like chimichangas? Of course you do. 'Cause I know this place just around the corne-'(his brother had refused to describe exactly where his marks were-only giving away a general location-or which was where. They were both in the general location of his ass.) and his are 'Show yourself. We don't want to hurt you. ... Please?' on the underside of his left biceps and a weird 'Is this a test? Вы один из них?' on the small of his back_ (the start of his tail no-) _, neither of which bode well for the future._

 _"... The one on my ass." Peter mutters, his face darkening even more. He chuckles._ (why-)

_"Soo..."_

_"Don't say it!"_ (don't say wha-) _He laughs and decides that he's done enough._

 _"So what is she like, that mate of yours?" The smile that returns to Pete's face is blinding, like a long forgotten sun._ (And he knows that smile, never quite forgot it.)

 

He wakes up.

 

* * *

 

 

_He must have fallen asleep at some point because Yasha is no longer in his cell._

_He is in a room that brings a bitter taste to his mouth. He knows he's dreaming-or remembering-because the handler on his right died two cryo away. (He had been standing too close and the Soldier's fist had passed through his head, like a knife in warm-bloody-butter.) His mouth dries, his dream-body stiffening. He knows this place, this room._

_Something really bad happened-or is about to happen-here._

_And when he sees through the window(a two-way mirror-he knows that somehow) a drugged but waking up, naked (They both are half the time-nothing new there) Ghost, tied up to a chair, his legs spread out, tail bound back under the chair in an angle that must be painful, he knows what comes next. (Because he once was the one bound in that chair, in that same position.) He screams inside his head, trying to wake up, not wanting to relive this, he doesn't want to remember. (please please please, anything but this.)_

_But his memory-body moves, following orders he doesn't remember hearing, stepping into the room, waiting for the bound man to be fully awake, to realize where he is and what's about to happen. And surely, Ghost wakes up, smoothing away his expression into blankness the moment he comes to, takes in the room, the Soldier's presence and his own nakedness. They lock eyes. The Soldier can see Ghost testing his bounds subtly (his movements imperceptible to non-enhanced humans and Yasha is stupidly proud of him for an instant.) He approaches, their eyes still locked, and steps in between open thighs. Ghost's eyes widen a bit, his whole body still, the tip of his tail starting to quiver, as his mind puts two and two together and he understands what is about to take place. The Soldier's hand reach-_

_And Bucky is falling and falling and falling, snow and ice surrounding him, the howl of wind and the sound of a train in his ears, and he's hot and cold, adrenaline and terror pumping in his veins, wind slashing his face, and the ground is coming closer and closer -I love you, punk- he braces himself for the impact-_

 

And Yasha wakes up, a scream dying on his lips, his body rocking back and forth, shaking, covered in cold sweat. He falls forward and retches, his stomach empty after years of being tube-fed. The inside door of his cell opens, a doctor rushing in to sedate him and he lashes out.

A few precious seconds later, when he gets a grip on himself again, he is coated in blood and something that looks and smells like brain matter. The former doctor is now spread in a messy smudge in the middle of the cell-room, any hint of his identity torn apart by Yasha's fists. Nobody's coming to clean _that,_ not if they don't have the chair to put him back under control.

Yasha returns to 'his' corner of the room, where he's the closest to Adrian. He looks at his once again perfectly steady hands and he can now remember what Adrian scale-covered skin felt like under him, what Adrian's skin tasted like in his mouth, the smell of their sweat and come and blood mixing, the arching, the tensing, the shrieking-Yasha hits the back of his head against the cold-metal wall hard, fogging his vision as what is probably a concussion blooms in his head (and starts healing instantly), effectively cutting his self-destructive thought process short.

There'll be time for self-hatred later, when they're free and safe.

For now, he needs to focus on protecting what's his-and his stomach twists again, bile filling his mouth once more-and getting them both out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got side-tracked again.


End file.
